Inside Azkaban Quidditch: Prisoner Hagall, Sigel 913
by Tynan Makem
Summary: AU. Azkaban is loosing the Ministry thousands of galleons. They need to keep the prison open but need a way to turn a profit. In a stroke of brilliance, an official determines that they can let the prisoners vent energy as well as make money by starting the first Azkaban Prison Team, called The Dementors. This is the story of Prisoner Hagall, Sigel 913, Beater for The Dementors


**So, the concept of this story is simple. My quidditch team has a huge backstory and lore set in the potterverse, which is very unusual for teams. Still, each of us has our own "character" and I decided to write out mine's backstory.**

**Eventually I'll write more little oneshots about the team but this one's just mine. Though this is set in the potterverse, it has no actual HP characters in it so if that bothers you, feel free to stop reading.**

**Azkaban Prison, The North Sea, the day following the full moon.**

Drip. Drip. The man thrashed around in his cell, raging against the torture. He was a creature of the forrest, he was meant to have warm dirt under his feet and the fresh smell of pine filling his nose and the blood of his enemies on his hands. This place with it's stone walls and floor was driving him mad. He would escape one day, he was sure of it. It had taken an entire team of Aurors to bring him in. Surely this place couldn't hold him. As soon as the moon was full he would be able to escape.

Drip. Drip. Drip. He was now writhing in pain on the floor. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was as if his blood was boiling while his bones broke and his organs failed. His shirt had long since been torn off. The skin on his back was being ripped of as he ground it into the stone, the tearing and ripping a welcome distraction from what was going on internally. The full moon was at it's peak as was his suffering. 29 days. That's how long he had waited in this hell for today. Today, when he should be at his greatest power, he was at his weakest. The creature that guarded his cell were beginning to eat at his mind. Memories he wanted buried long ago were dredged up, clawing at his mind. Today should have been his night though. He should be out of here by now. Instead, the condition that granted him his strength was destroying him. The wards on the cell prevented him from transforming but his body continued to try and would keep trying till the moon set. It was pure agony.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. 730 days. 104 weeks. 24 months. 24 transformations. 24 nights of pure, unmitigated pain. Each time it was as bad as the first. He had long since wished for his death but no such relief would come to him. The magic here kept him alive but only just. The memories, the people, they wouldn't leave him alone now. His father, standing in the corner, cattle prod in hand and an angry scowl on his face. His first victim, a girl now older than 20, her ethereal fingers tearing at his stomach as his claws had hers. His mother, his sweet, sweet mother, whispering his ears, telling him to do great and terrible things. Reminding him of what a naughty little boy he is. He most obey mother. Each of his victims, sitting there in his cell, screaming at him. Their cries are a banshee's wail as they rip into him. A rare Auror guard walks by and sees him alone in his cell, sitting cross legged, clutching himself, rocking back and fourth while muttering. The guard dismisses him as a madman.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. The icy water of the sea that continually crashed against the walls of his prison always dripped onto him. It was the only constant now, besides his friends and the pain. Oh yes, the people who spoke at him and clawed into him were most definitely his friends. They reminded him of what he was, a monster, broken and captured. A pathetic beast only fit to be kept in the zoo. He cackled madly, unsure of whether he actually vocalized it. He did not care though. For the first time since his incarcerationm, he was happy. Soon, his routine was interrupted. A man appeared at his cell door, wearing Ministry robes. For the first time in years, his cell door opened.

"Christopher McCormick, Prisoner number Hagall, Sigel, 913,convicted on 117 counts of murder of muggles and wizards?"

He stared at the man. Yes, that was his name. He hadn't heard that name since the trial. He smiled, to the best of his ability, staring the man in the eyes.

"Yes, I suppose that is me, isn't it? What can I do for you?" he said through a broken smile.

The man looked at Chris. He had been a finely trained wizard but that was long ago. Now, he was more beast than man. Chris' eyes darted around, never focusing on one thing. Then the man coughed and his eyes fixated on him. The man stared into Chris' eyes. They were not like anything he had seen before. They were as if someone had taken a storm and had placed it into the soul of a human, if the creature before him could be called human anymore. The man pointed his wand at Chris and lifted the enchantments binding him. Chris sprung up at first but then crouched down, shifting his weight back and fourth. Looking on, it was clear that even the lethargy that Azkaban impozed on it's victims could not hold back the animalistic reflexes.

"The Ministry has decided that this prison is loozing too much money. To fix this, it has been decided that the prisoners will form a Quidditch team to earn back some of these funds. You have been selected to play. This is non-negotiable."

Chris stared at the man for a good long while before standing up and cackling madly. To impose fear, to have the thrill of the hunt, to destroy his pray, it would be magical. A crooked grin creeped up his face.

"Like I would refuse. Get me a broom and a bludger. I have work to do"

**So, that's it. What did you think? Like I said, eventually I'll post a longer story that involves the other people on my team but I was bored in class and had sudden inspiration. If you follow my other story, don't worry, the next chapter is almost done and should be out before the month is up. **


End file.
